


Piss and 409

by GraphDesino



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphDesino/pseuds/GraphDesino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ailing Snake comes to terms with life as a patient. Pre-MGS4, Otacon/Snake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piss and 409

He measured his life in three minute increments, in the time it took to read an article in last month’s issue of _National Geographic_. That was all he seemed to do - wait, with all the other hopeless-eyed ghosts in those mass-produced plastic chairs, and read snippets of things he couldn’t care less about. He knew he belonged there, but it always felt so wrong, so unfair.

Today was the first of his latest battery of tests. He’d been diagnosed already, he knew - _progeria_ was what most of them called it, though Otacon, predictably, could recite its real name and the gene it was caused by. Not a pleasant disease to have jotted down on your chart, but it came as no surprise. They were double and triple-checking for every other possible condition now, or so he was told. It was a half-truth at best. Progeria wouldn’t kill him, but the myriad of cancers, leukemias and scourges that it caused eventually would, and that, he figured, was really what they were looking for. He didn’t envy the unlucky nurse who would have to give him the results.

Above all, it was the waiting that got to him. Sitting there, in one of countless tiny rooms, where the air was thick with sickness and smelled of sanitizer. There was such an air of doom to the place. Healthy people, people who could have picnics and go hiking and go out to fancy steak dinners, people with a future, had no place there. The people occupying those worn-out chairs were there because they were suffering. And he was one of them now. He would someday wear that look of emaciated sorrow on his face, would someday have the nurse who called his name smile and recognize him and ask, with politely faked interest, how Sunny was doing. And Christ, he wasn’t even 50.

His anxiety must’ve shown. He felt a hand grab his, felt soft fingers interlace with his bony, brittle ones. Instinctively he looked up, into those thick glasses and that ever-reassured smile.

“It’s only a couple pokes,” Otacon murmured. “I’ll be right there with you.”

He wanted to shirk away. That would have been the right thing, the typical thing, the strong thing. He didn’t speak, didn’t keep eye contact for more than a moment. But he gripped his friend’s hand like a vice, only dropping it when the nurse called his name.

* * *

He could hear them from beyond the plastic privacy curtain. The nurse must’ve left his door ajar. He longed to close it, would have if he weren’t tethered by tubes. It was only diagnostic surgery - they’d found a lesion in him they needed to biopsy - but even that was enough to warrant an overnight stay. The guilt chafed and prodded at him as often as the IV in his arm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but like I said, hospital policy only allows family members after visiting hours have end--”

“We _are_ his family!” A muffled sob from Sunny, and a few heavy, hasty footsteps.

“If you can get some documentation of that--”

“Like what? ID, passports--”

“Something like a marriage license.”

A pause. “Damn it, I’m not trying to _scam_ you here--”

“Look, sir, I’m sure you’d be welcome to visit during the day. I just have to make sure everyone follows the rules, all right?”

Another pause, and a huff from Otacon. “There’s something wrong with you people, if you think you can just do this.” Then, a little softer, “Come on, Sunny. We’ll see Uncle Snake tomorrow.”

“Oh... A-All right. I can still give him the cookies, right?”

He replied in that lovingly patronizing fathers’ tone. “Of course. I know he’ll love them.”

David strained his ears for their footsteps, dejectedly slow, as the nurse flicked off the hallway lights behind them.  He longed for tomorrow’s daylight. He’d been spoiled by their company so often, too often, and last month’s _National Geographic_ could only do so much to console him.

 


End file.
